This is My Life
by JamesTheGreater
Summary: A collection of one-shots based on our characters' extraordinary lives.
1. Intro

**A collection of one-shots depicting the stories and events in our characters' lives. Be there for the romance, comedy, drama, angst, adventure, and other lesser genres that make up iCarly.**

**WARNING: May contain excessive amounts of over-reacting brunettes, blonde headed demons, tech-nerds, neurotic mothers, and slightly insane sculptors. Oh, and of course, Gibby.**


	2. The Day Sam Tried to Cook

**This is a project that I am launching. And what better way to start than through the POV of our dork Freddie.**

* * *

Sam can do a lot of things. She can pick a lock in under 5 seconds. She can hot wire a car. She can blow up anything, anytime. And food.

Don't even get me started with food. She can eat 3 whole hams without getting sick. She can clean out an entire buffet. She can devour anything edible, be it frog legs or pig ears. Anything. And you would think: with her eating so much, she'd learn about ingredients and flavors and things like that.

As it turns out, the one thing Sam can't do...is cook. She can only eat food; she can't make it. But this fact hadn't occurred to Sam, which is why, due her love of eating, this semester she chose to take a cooking class. And unfortunately for Carly and me, she needed test subjects.

We couldn't use Carly's because Spencer needed the whole apartment for, approximately, a bazillion sculptures to be entered in the Seattle New Artist contest. So now we were in my kitchen. And Sam had just placed in front of us two steaming plates of...

Carly tentatively poked at the black mass with her fork. "Sam? What is this?"

Sam was grinny. She was in her positive cooking mode. "That, my dear Carls, is duck a l'Orange. It was especially tough to make because the recipe was in French."

"I didn't know you knew French."

"I don't."

"Then how did you—"

"That's beside the point, Carly. Trust me, it's duck a l'Orange."

For obvious reasons, I was skeptical. "Sam, it looks like a steak."

The forces must have been against me that day because Sam's happy attitude disappeared faster than one Magic Malika's tricks. She spoke in a dangerous voice. "It's duck, Freddie. Eat it."

"What color was the meat when you bought it? There's no way that's duck."

"Eat it."

I stare at the meat. It's completely black. "I can't eat that, Sam. I'd get cancer. It's so burned the whole thing is probably one massive carcinogen."

She pointed at me with a long knife. "Eat it."

I gulped nervously. "Um...I'm full."

"Yeah, full of crap. EAT IT."

I shook my head.

Sam turned to Carly. "Make him eat it, Carly."

Carly looked from the venomous expression on Sam's face to the terrifyingly long knife in her oven-mitted hand. She turned to me. "Maybe you should do what she says, Freddie."

I felt this was completely unfair. "Why? You're her best friend! You should try it first."

Carly glared. "What? You should try it. You're her...almost boyfriend."

"WHAT?!? Where'd you get that crazy idea?"

Carly smirked. "Oh, you think I don't know. I see things, Freddie, and I—"

"There's nothing to see! How could you possibly even—"

"That's what you'd like me to believe, when in reality—"

"Are you serious? What kind of—"

Sam slammed the knife into the table causing Carly and me to jump in our seats. I looked down at the knife. It sunk at least an inch into the polished wood. That's going to be hard to explain to my mom. I looked back up. Sam looked furious. She spoke through gritted teeth. "All I want. Is for someone to. Eat. The. Damned. FOOD!"

Carly raised her hand.

"WHAT?"

Carly timidly answered. "I'll try it."

And just like that, ultra scary angry Sam was replaced with super happy cooking Sam.

"Thank you, Carly."

She even went as far as to place a cloth napkin in Carly's lap. "I hope you enjoy it."

I snorted and Sam chucked the oven-mitt at me. "Shut up, Benson."

I fell silent. We both watched with bated breath as Carly cut into the duck/steak. She stabbed a dainty piece on her fork and brought it up to her lips. Carly took a deep breath and put the food in her mouth.

She started to chew and a confused look crossed her face. "Sam? I can't taste anything." She chewed some more. "Come to think of it, I can't feel anything either. What did you—"

Carly fell forward, her face landing in the steak/duck. The fork fell from her unconscious hand.

I screamed. "Omigod, omigod, omigod."

Sam rushed to Carly's side and picked up her wrist. She let out a sigh of relief. "Calm down, Fredbutt, she's still alive. Call 911 before that stops being a fact."

The paramedics showed up. They told us that she was probably going to be fine and that they just needed to take her to the hospital to make sure. They put her on a gurney and we piled into the elevator. When we arrived in lobby, Lewbert shouted. "NO MEDICAL EMERGENCIES IN MY LOBBY!"

Sam shouted back. "Shut up, Lewbert. We'll have a medical emergency if we want to."

The ride in the ambulance was uneventful. After the check up (the doctor said Carly would wake up in a couple hours), Sam and I were sitting next to Carly's bed. I asked the question that had been on my mind.

"What did you put in there?"

Sam shrugged. "Oh, you know, some herbs, spices, stuff..."

"And where did you get all these ingredients?"

"From that white rack in your kitchen."

I stared in disbelief. "Sam! That was my mom's rack of medicinal herbs! The brown rack was the one with cooking herbs and spices. You poisoned Carly!"

"WHAT? Who the hell puts medicinal herbs in a kitchen RIGHT NEXT TO THE REGULAR HERBS!"

"My mom does. It's supposed to be for CCC's. Cooking Caused Catastrophes....though, looking back, that wasn't such a smart choice."

Sam scoffed. "Well, no duh. This time they **caused** the catastrophe."

"Yeah..."

We sat in silence for a couple seconds before Sam started laughing.

I was confused. "What?"

She started laughing even harder. "You do realize that you just said 'my mom's rack'."

I face-palmed. "Let's get something from the vending machine."

Sam was still giggling as we walked down the hall. Then I saw my mom following a doctor who was pushing...Spencer in a gurney.

I ran over. "Mom, what happened?"

My mom spoke in a shaky voice. "I-I came home and f-found Spencer on th-the ground with a p-piece of d-duck in his mouth."

Sam punched me in the arm. "See. I told you it was duck."

I am Freddie Benson and this is my life.

* * *

**How was it? You can tell me by reviewing. Thank you for your support.**


	3. The Day My Brother Came to School

**Now for some Carly POV.**

* * *

Principal Franklin seemed like an okay guy. He listened to his students. He thought up great solutions for the school. Overall, he was an intelligent man and I thought he was pretty likeable.

That was until he decided to have spirit week.

The first four days were okay.

There was western day which, in my mind, Gibby took all too seriously. (There were still piles of horse manure in the halls.)

There was pajama day. (Freddie was mysteriously absent.)

On Wednesday, everyone had to wear school colors, which I really think they should change. (Gray and brown are not cheerful at all.)

And I don't know how she did it, but Sam got Principal Franklin to have International Food day in the cafeteria. Sam was finally able to achieve her dream of eating ham from every country. (And she **still** cleaned out my fridge when we got home.)

So spirit week was drawing to a close. The excitement was dying down. Then, when I was checking the school website for homework, I saw it. Tomorrow's theme.

Bring Your Older Brother to School Day.

I hate Principal Franklin.

* * *

"Are you going to behave?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to raise your hand in class instead of shouting out?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to avoid, at all costs, setting objects on fire?"

"As best as I can."

I sighed. "Fine, Spencer, you can come."

We got to school in record time.

When we walked through the front doors, I was relieved that some other kids had also brought their older brothers.

Sam and Freddie were waiting by my locker. Well, actually, Sam was busy ogling all the older guys walking around. Freddie was standing there looking slightly, dare I say it, jealous.

"Sam, you have a little drool in the corner of your mouth."

She and Freddie spun around. Simultaneously, they said, "Hey Carly."

After a couple slaps, they both realized that Spencer was standing behind me.

"Hey, Spence, what are you doing here?" Freddie asked.

Spencer grinned. "It's Bring Your Older Brother to School day."

He started doing his "Elevator Repairman Dance" (no idea why he calls it that) and already I'm regretting my decision of bringing him here.

Sam smirked and looked around. "Ooooh, so that's what this is. I just thought it my early birthday present."

Freddie glanced at his watch and laughed nervously. "Look at the time. We should be heading toward first period."

And with that he grabbed Sam's wrist and dragged her to English. (Did I mention Freddie's gotten stronger?)

I turned to Spencer who, by now, was drawing quite a crowd.

"Spencer, stop it. You're making a scene."

Due to his current state of dance inebriation, Spencer didn't hear me. He answered with _tap, tap, tap_.

"Spencer."

_Tap, tap._

"Speeeenceeeeer."

_Tap, tap.....tap._

I took out my phone and looked at the time. Noodles.

"SPENCER!! I HAVE 30 SECONDS TO GET TO PRE-CALCULUS!!!"

He froze. "Why didn't you tell me!?!"

"Well, you were—"

My sentence was cut off as Spencer picked me up, threw me over his shoulder and took off. In the wrong direction.

"Turn around, it's the other way! Up the stairs, third floor, fourth door on the right."

Spencer let out a groan. He skidded to a stop and reversed direction.

20 seconds.

Spencer started to slow as we went up the stairs. I decided he needed encouragement.

"Come on, Spencer! Move those legs, man. Usain Bolt's got nothin' on you!"

10 seconds

We made to the third floor. Spencer panted as we sprinted down the hallway.

5

Doors flashed by.

4

Spencer grabbed the handle.

3

He turned it.

2

He wrenched the door open.

1

We burst into the ...Spanish classroom?

The bell rang.

"Spencer, FOURTH door on the right."

"Oh."

I was late to Pre-calculus. And the teacher made me explain why I was late in front of the whole class. So I ended up introducing Spencer who made a point to shake everyone's hand on the way to my desk.

The whole time in class, he kept raising his hand to ask ridiculous questions such as: "How come eleven isn't firsteen and twelve isn't secondteen?" and "If I concentrate hard enough, will **X** find **me**?"

English wasn't any better. I had to present a report on Wuthering Heights. Guess who clapped the loudest. Bingo. Before AND after my presentation, Spencer stood up clapped and cheered and pointed out to everyone that I was his sister Carly.

Third period, I had health. Spencer got kicked out halfway through. No need to elaborate.

Lunch was...strange. Sam had a half a cold pizza. (I decided not to ask.) Freddie had a sandwich. I planned to pay for lunch with the three dollars and fifty cents in my pocket. I'd forgotten to tell Spencer to bring money and when he found out it was $3.50 to get lunch he refused to pay that much for a "lameburger". So what did he do? He went around asking kids for little bits of their lunches until he amassed a stockpile of various foods. Everyone in the cafeteria watched as he mixed all the ingredients together in a bowl he took from someone, grabbed a fork, and proceeded to dig into his "super-salad". Let's just say many kids looked a little bit green.

World history was okay. And I say it was okay because Spencer didn't disturb the lesson in any way. He quietly slept through the whole class.

Now, we're in my last class of the day. And I can truthfully say that I regret ever signing up for art.

When all the students and brothers were seated at individual stations, the elderly teacher began.

"Good afternoon class. For those older brothers who don't know who I am, my name is Mrs. Headlyburg."

Spencer snorted and I elbowed him in the side.

Mrs. Headlyburg continued. "So far we've covered basic drawing and basic painting so now I think were reading to move on to basic sculpting."

Dear God.

Spencer grinned and started fidgeting in his seat.

"Use the materials from the bin at the front of the class. Please finish ten minutes before the end of the period so I can comment. Begin."

Spencer was up and out of his seat before anyone else reacted. His arms were full of random materials when retreated to a corner to work. I didn't hear from him for the rest of the period.

Time passed.

"Okay, dearies, time to see what you've created."

Mrs. Headlyburg walked around examining each person's sculpture. She occasionally let out an "Mmm hmm" and an "I see".

She stopped in front of my sculpture. Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. It was disappointing to say the least. My pitiful wax/clay/feather sculpture resembled the failed baking of a cake.

"Ms. Shay. What is this?"

I replied nervously. "Um...it's supposed to be a bird taking flight."

"Well, good effort, but it seems that the bird has melted and congealed into the Blob. Go home and practice, Ms. Shay."

"Yes, Mrs. Headlyburg."

She walked past me and continued check the other sculptures. I was putting my sculpture in my bag when I heard a shriek.

"MY WORD! What is this monstrosity?"

I froze and closed my eyes. _Please don't be Spencer. Please don't be Spencer. Please don't be_—

"This is a walrus cooking a delicious breakfast of bacon and eggs." It was Spencer.

I turned around to see Mrs. Headlyburg gaping at a sculpture that was **very** big, **very** tall, and **very** messy.

Mrs. Headlyburg regained the ability to speak. "Do you think this is funny?"

Spencer looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"I ask you to create art and you give me a walrus cooking ham and—"

"Bacon."

"What?"

"He's cooking bacon and eggs. You said ham."

Mrs. Headlyburg did not look happy. "Whatever. This cannot be considered art. **Real** art is supposed to have meaning. **Real** art is supposed to say something."

Spencer was frustrated. "What is it with you teachers and art? Why does art have to be boring to you guys? Why can't art be about having fun and being random?"

"Because it just can't. Now, I suggest you remove this...thing from my room."

She started to walk towards Spencer's sculpture.

His eyes widened. "No, don't touch—"

But it was too late. Mrs. Headlyburg's hand made contact with the sculpture and it collapsed. On her.

* * *

We were in Principal Franklin's office.

"Is she going to be okay?"

Principal Franklin replied, "Yes. She didn't sustain any major injuries. She's going to be fine."

Spencer sigh of relief.

Principal Franklin continued. "However, she is going to be out for a couple months. I need a new art teacher. Are you interested?"

I shook my head and made cutting gestures across my neck, trying to get Principal Franklin to retract his offer.

Spencer answered. "Why, I would love to."

He turned to me. "Did you hear that, Carly? I'm gonna teach here for a couple months."

My name is Carly Shay and this is my life.

* * *

**How was it? Please Review.**

**A thanks to pigwiz for getting Wuthering Heights stuck in my head. :) **

***By the way, for any of you who are reading my story "My Mistake", its status is now incomplete. The next chapter will be posted by Tuesday Dec. 22.**


	4. The Day We Have a Last Laugh Part 1

**IDOI (I don't Own iCarly)**

**I'm back! I got home on Friday and I spent most of Saturday sleeping.**

**I know I'm a little late for New Year's fics but I was busy. This will be in two parts. The second one will be up in...soon.**

**Inspiration: On Dan Schneider's blogspot .com/ , there's a list of funny phrases he thinks we should retire at the end of 2009. So I wrote a fic to use ALL the phrases before the iCarlyites go 2010. This is their last laugh.**

* * *

2 hours until 2010 and the party at the Shay household was in full swing. In addition to the usual inhabitants of the apartment, there was half of the Ridgeway Sophmore class. Obviously, there was no alcohol. (Spencer wasn't **that** irresponsible.) But due to the massive quantities of soda and candy and other sweets, the partiers were acting strange, to say the least.

* * *

"I don't think we should do this, Sam. It isn't healthy."

Sam scoffed. "Stop being such a wuss, Wimpy McWimp...er...son."

Freddie raised an eyebrow. "Wimpy McWimperson?"

"Shut up and help me."

He grabbed some of the cans from her arms and set them down on the island in the kitchen.

"But, I mean, Peppy Cola is sugary enough and you want to pour in Pixie Stix?"

Sam grinned. "Yeah, I know, I'm a genius. Open these cans while I get a bowl."

As Freddie opened the soda, Sam hunted through the cupboards and drawers for the biggest bowl she could find. She found it in a bottom cupboard and bent over to grab it. When she straightened back up and turned around, she caught Freddie staring at her.

"What?"

He snapped out of his trance. "What?"

"What d'you mean 'what'? You were staring at me."

"No. No I wasn't."

"Yeah, you kinda were."

"No, I swear."

"Don't make me do what I did last time."

"HEY, I wasn't staring at you that time either. And you didn't have to empty the whole tray of food down my pants. I actually had to throw those pants away because the stains wouldn't come out. My mom was furious. I was grounded for a month."

A contented look crossed Sam's face. "Ah, good times...." She regained focus. "Wait, what were we talking about?"

Freddie stuttered, "N-nothing."

Sam stared him down a little longer. Then she shook her head and placed the bowl on the table.

"Whatever. We don't have time for this. Dump the Peppy cola in here."

Freddie let out a breath of relief. He started to empty the soda into the bowl.

"Why do we need to make a whole bowl?"

"..." No answer.

He turned around. Sam was concentrating on cutting each Pixie Stix in half and dispensing the sweet substance into another bowl.

"Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Will you go out with me?"

"Yea- wait, what?!?" She looked up incredulously.

Freddie grinned. "Now that I have your attention....why are we making a whole bowl?"

Sam sighed, stood up, and patted Freddie on the shoulder. "Fredward, Fredward, Fredward," she began in a condescending tone, "My dear mentally challenged Fredward. We need a whole bowl because we are making this concoction to share with the people." She gestured with a sweeping arm to the dancing crowd of teens in the Shay's livingroom. "We must spread the joy of cavities and hyperactivity to all the boys and girls. We must show the commoners' taste buds what it feels like to be treated as royalty. We must induce stupidity. We must cause foolishness. We must demonstrate what it means to party. And so, since Spencer decided to be a grown-up for, like, the first time ever and prohibited alcohol, I must make do with what I can."

"Everyone's already crazy from all the regular Peppy cola they drank. And besides, I don't think Pixie sticx and Peppy cola has the same effects as beer, Sam."

"Well, then you haven't tried it yet. And there's no such thing as too much soda. Now get back to your job."

After they finished their respective tasks, Sam held the Pixie stix bowl over the cola bowl.

"Are you ready, Freddie...ugh, I can't believe I just said that."

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure."

"Well, then," Sam tipped the Pixie stix bowl over, "SHA-ZAM!"

The powder fell into the soda with a splash. Freddie stared at the mixture. Nothing happened.

"Alrighty then. That was a waste of time."

Sam smirked and held up a ladle. "Try it."

Freddie scoffed. "Whatever, Sam."

He grabbed the ladle and a nearby cup. Filling the cup all the way, he glanced at Sam before downing the drink.

"I don't see what's so—"

Freddie's eyes widened and Sam grinned."Good, eh?"

"Oh. My. God."

Freddie filled and drank another cup full. "It's like a party in my mouth. And everyone in the party is drinking **this** and having parties in **their** mouths."

"Glad you like it. Now give me the ladle. Mama wants some cola."

She attempted to grab the ladle from Freddie's hand but he held it over his head.

Sam growled. "What the hell, doofus?"

He shook his head. "I need some more."

"You can have more after I get some."

He shook his head again. "No, it's mine, all mine." Then he took off. Though too bad for him, Sam had the reflexes of a doped up mountain lion. She jumped and Freddie was on the ground in a split second.

"Give me the ladle, you nub."

"Noooo, it's mine, it's all mine."

They rolled over and over each other, bumping into the kitchen walls.

"Give it—"

"No—"

"Ladle—"

"ARGH!"

"Dammit."

Freddie pinned Sam to the ground, the ladle next to her head. They were both gasping for air.

"It's mine. No one gets to have any."

Sam raised a hand and slapped him. He shook his head and the wild look left his eyes.

"Wha—where—" Freddie noticed the very angry blonde beneath him. He stood up, laughing nervously.

"Heh, heh. Hey Sam, what's up?"

She snatched up the ladle and advanced menacingly.

"Now, Sam, let's not get hasty here. It was the drink. I'm sor—"

Sam lunged. Freddie's screams couldn't be heard over the blaring music.

* * *

"Put your pants back on, Gibby, and get off the table!"

Gibby was currently on the coffee table, in his briefs, rocking out to 'Poker face'."

"C'mon, Carly, this is my song! I always dance to it in my underwear. Sometimes even without."

"Okay, first of all, too much information; second, 'Poker face' is nobody's song; and third, my deceased grandmother gave me that table. I suggest you get off before I ask Sam to do it for you."

Gibby continued dancing. "Ha, Sam's not gonna listen to you. She's too busy with Freddie. And by busy with Freddie, I mean beating the crap out of him. Look."

He pointed over the raging mob.

"WHAT?!?"

Carly joined him on the table. Gibby's words were true. Sam was going "The Seattle Way" on Freddie. With a ladle.

* * *

**Second part will be posted soon. So will the 6th chapter of My Mistake. **

**Review. Report any errors/problems.**

**Please? For me? **


	5. The Day We Have a Last Laugh Part 2

**IDOI**

**Second Part of We Have a Last Laugh. Please bear with me on this one.**

* * *

"SAM! FREDDIE!"

Carly wove her way through the crowd. When she reached the dueling duo, she grabbed both their collars and, using strength she never knew she had, wrenched them apart.

"STOP."

Sam pointed at Freddie with an accusing finger. "He started it. He would let me have any Peppy-Cola!"

Freddie protested, "I said I was sorry. It was the cola's fault."

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, whatever. The cola's fault? What the hell does that even mean?"

"It means that STUFF that you made is completely mind controlling. Actually, YOU made it. It's your fault when you really think about it."

"Really think about it? How can you? You barely think at all."

Carly was fed up. "CAN YOU TWO PLEASE JUST SHUT UP FOR ONE FRIGGIN' SECOND SO I CAN ENJOY MY GODDAMN PARTY?!? I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR GUYS' CRAP FOR TODAY!"

Surprisingly, it was Freddie who replied. "Jeez, angry much?"

And as you may well know, this is not something to say to someone who is extremely pissed off. Fortunately, Freddie was saved from getting his ass handed to him for the second time. By Sam no less.

"HEY, Carly, look! Is-is that...Wendy?"

Carly whipped around to see that, in full view of all the partiers, a still pant less Gibby was making out with Wendy on her Grandmother's table.

"Oh My God."

"Yeah, I know. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit."

"No, Sam, that's the table my Granny gave me. And it's being desecrated by teenage hormones."

"That's...not good."

"YA THINK! Get over there and GET THEM OFF!"

Not wanting to anger Carly any more than she already was, Sam shoved her way through the still oblivious dancers. "OUTTA MY WAY! MOVE IT OR LOSE IT, BUB!"

Freddie watched Sam leave while Carly looked at the clock.

"Aw man! There's only twenty minutes until countdown."

"Yeah, she is hot."

Carly did a double take. "Ye- what?"

Freddie looked stricken. "Did I say that out loud?"

"Yes. Yes you did. Care to explain?"

Freddie sighed. "You're not gonna let this go are you?"

"No chance."

"Fine. Look, it's just, Sam is smokin' hot, and the way she pushes other people around, the way she eats like a pig, the way she can run faster than anyone on the track team, it's just all so...awesome. And her blonde hair, soft skin...every day I just dream of getting to touch her all over."

Carly was wide-eyed. "OK then...thanks for sharing that creepy bit of information. I'm gonna stand over here for now."

She moved to the other side of the kitchen, leaving Freddie in a dreamy daze.

* * *

Meanwhile...

"GIBBY, GET OFF THE FRICKIN' TABLE BEFORE I HAVE TO SHOVE YOU OFF!"

Gibby and Wendy scrambled on to the floor. "Yes Ma'am. Sorry Ma'am."

"And, Wendy, what are you doing making out with—with GIBBY? Of all the guys in this room, GIBBY? He's so weird it makes Freddie look sort of normal."

"BURN! ... Wait...," Gibby mumbled to himself, going over what Sam had said, "You insulted ME!"

Sam sadly shook her head. "No, Gibby, you insulted yourself."

"Oh, Snap... you are on a roll."

"Thanks, Wendy, I try my best."

* * *

Meanwhile...

Carly caught sight of Wesley dancing to close to the—

"NO, DON'T GO THERE! THAT'S WHERE—"

But it was too late. He exploded.

"—Spencer keeps his WWII mine collection."

Luckily, the explosion couldn't be heard over the music and the partiers weren't distracted from having fun. Carly started to clean up the mess when a hand landed on her shoulder. She looked up. Griffin.

"Hey, how's it going?"

She looked at the clock. It was about a minute before countdown. If she could talk to Griffin long enough maybe she can get some lip action as they ring in the New Year.

"Oh, it's been going fine." She replied.

* * *

Meanwhile...

Sam made her way back to the kitchen to get some cola. She found Freddie at the table with his head in his hands.

"Hey, where's the ladle?"

His head shot up.

"Over there."

"Dude, you have a black eye."

"What?" Freddie ran over to the fridge to check his reflection. "Aw, Man, my mom's gonna kill me." He gingerly touched the ring of blue and purple flesh. "Ow."

Sam felt a little sorry. (LITTLE.) So she got some ice from the freezer and put it in a bag. "Come here, nub, we gotta ice it."

They sat down at the table and she leaned forward, carefully placing the ice over his eye. He closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh. Then he opened his good eye to see that Sam face was inches from his own. Their eyes connected.

"You know, from up close, you look even more beautiful."

Sam smirked. "Of course I do."

Freddie was feeling light headed from a combination of the ice and Sam's sweet smelling breath constantly brushing his face.

The countdown began.

5

Carly started leaning forward.

4

Gibby and Wendy resumed their make out session on Carly's Grandmother's table.

3

The partiers danced on.

2

Freddie moved Sam's hand aside and looked at her lips.

1

BLAM! The table broke, dropping Gibby and Wendy on the floor.

BLAM! Griffin accidently stepped back and detonated a mine.

BLAM! Freddie nursed a second black eye. Sam's explanation? "No one touches Mama's business."

Meanwhile...

He lay under the tree with Sasha. The fireworks went off when the countdown hit zero. They kissed passionately. Spencer broke off the kiss and grinned.

"Best. New Years. Ever."

We are iCarly and this is 2010.

* * *

**HAHAHA. *Wipes tear from eye* This was a disaster! I went a little random with this one. I couldn't fit the phrases into the story so I fit the story around the phrases. And No, Spencer doesn't REALLY have a WWII mine collection. Nobody actually died. I just needed to use the phrase 'Don't go there'. I just thought I could take a break from the logical/rational. This short story does not have anything to do with the storyline of This is My Life. Anything that happened in this chapter (and the previous one for that matter) should be disregarded.**

**By the Way, This is My Life is going to be series of connected one-shots. **

**These are the phrases that Dan has deemed unfunny for 2010.**

**1. Blanky McBlankerson (Wimpy McWimperson, in this case)**

**2. Good times **

**3. REALLY?!?**

**4. Alrighty then**

**5. It's like a party in my mouth**

**6. Too much information**

**7. And by [this] I mean [that]**

**8. ___ Much? (Angry Much?)**

**9. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit**

**10. Ya think?**

**11. Did I just say that out loud?**

**12. Burn**

**13. Oh snap**

**14. Don't go there**

**15. Business (refering to someone's body part as his/her business)**

**16. Best. Blank. Ever.**

** The last one I couldn't use: 17. Eh, not so much.**

**Review? **


	6. The Day the World Ended

**I know, I know...I said this was on hiatus. Well now it's not. I'm just not updating as...frequently. **

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It was after school and I was lounging with Carly on her couch. She was done with her homework and I wasn't done with not doing my homework. We were bored so naturally we turned to _Girly Cow_ for entertainment. About an hour later, I was starving. Specifically, I craved for my most favorite thing in the world: ham.

"Imma be raidin' your fridge, Carls."

She responded with a grunt.

I walked over to the kitchen and opened the fridge door. Peering inside, I saw corn, broccoli, squash (the horror!), a bowl of clams, and countless bottles of condiments. But the Pink Deliciousness was still missing. I started to get worried, but then I remembered the emergency ham drawer. (Warning: Use only in case of serious hamergency!) I pulled open the drawer to find...nothing?

"Noooooooo! Say it ain't so!"

I turned to find Carly looking at me curiously, though still in a half-sitting, half-laying position.

"Where'd the emergenham go!"

She raised her eyebrows. "You ate it the other day. Sam, you have a hamergency every day. Spencer's probably out right now buying some ham for you to finish in 5 minutes."

I took a few deep breaths. "You're right. I guess I'm just—"

Spencer burst through the door. "What up party people!"

Ham.

He caught sight of me and chuckled nervously.

"Oh, sorry, Sam. I forgot to buy some ham. But I _did_ buy rainbow toilet paper!"

"Rainbow toilet paper? Who gives a flying rat's ass about rainbow toilet paper! I'M GONNA DIE!"

Spencer's eyes widened. "Isn't that a little too serious a subject to be throwing arou—"

I pushed past him, sending him crashing into the bottle-bot.

Ham.

I was in the lobby in a second and half way out the door before I remembered didn't have any money. After another split second run up and down eight flights of stairs, I was in front of the Quik shop across the street with $10 of Spencer's hard earned cash.

Ham.

I walked through the automatic doors and made my way to the packaged meats.

Salami, bologna, oven-roasted turkey, pepperoni, hot dogs, sausages, bacon (so close!), but no ham. I ran to the cashier and grabbed his collar.

"Where's the ham?"

He replied with a frightened look on his face.

"Someone just came in a bought all the ham! It was the weirdest thing. He asked for all of it."

"ARGH!"

I shoved him away. Maybe another store still had some ham. I dashed outside. The sun was going down and I still hadn't eaten any ham. I ran to the grocery store a couple blocks down the street.

Ham.

Same story. All their ham had just been cleaned out.

Another three stores. The same three stories.

By now, I was frustrated. Who the hell buys all the ham in the city?

I spotted a deli tucked away between a record shop and a law firm. My hope was restored. A deli would definitely have ham. I made my way inside.

Ham.

The fat man at the counter asked, "Can I help you, miss?"

I growled, "You can help me by getting me some goddamn ham!"

He looked apologetic. "I'm sorry but we just ran out."

"SWEET LUCIFER! How can you say that so calmly?" I ran around end of the counter and shoved him against the wall. "Tell me who bought all the ham. Now."

The man stuttered, beads of sweat rolling down his face like rivers after a spring thaw. "I-I don't know. I-It was some k-kid. Average h-height. B-brown hair."

I shoved him again. "That doesn't help at all! Tell me more."

Ham.

"U-uh, I don't know, I guess he sorta looked like- like a nerd. Talked in complete sentences with proper grammar. Ironed pants, collared shirt, you know...the works."

"What color was the shirt?" I asked suspiciously.

"Um, I think it was blue. Yeah, that was it. Blue. And striped.

I dropped him to the ground.

That bitch.

I smashed through the automatic doors and pounded down the street. (No, I didn't. But that would've been awesome, right?)

After waiting for automatic doors to open, I left the deli angrier than I had been when I went in. Usually it didn't work that way. Usually, I came out with a blissful expression, birds flying through the air and the sun shining happily upon me as I chewed on a scrumptious slice of ham. Usually.

But not today.

Today was the day Freddie Benson begged for nonexistent mercy.

Sam Puckett showed no mercy.

Sam Puckett ripped people to shreds regardless of size, gender, age, hair color, or income.

Now I had two things on my mind.

Ham.

Kill.

Ham.

Kill.

HAM!

KILL!

"Raaaawwwrrr!" I let out a war cry, alarming several passersby.

And I took off faster than you could say, "Holy shit, Freddie, Sam's gonna murder you!"

Minutes later, I decided that stomping off in a random direction was just as effective as trying to cut a steak with a tennis ball.

Not very effective at all.

Using my critical thinking skills, I narrowed down the list of possible places Freddie could be to three options.

In Bushwell Plaza

Not in Bushwell Plaza

In the doorway of Bushwell Plaza

Time to teach a lesson.

I burst through the Bushwell doors (Freddie wasn't in the doorway) and stared around, breathing heavily.

"FREDDIE BENSON, I KNOW YOU'RE HERE! AND BE PREPARED BECAUSE I'M GOING TO KILL YOU SO HARD YOU'LL BE DEAD FOREVER!"

Lewbert ran out from behind his desk, his face looking like a clenched fist, screaming, "NO HOMICIDAL INTENTIONS IN MY LOB—"

I punched him in the stomach and he collapsed. I carefully stepped around his body and headed towards the stairwell. He would be expecting the elevator.

As I exited the stairwell on the eighth floor, I looked up to see Freddie leaning casually against his door. I considered this a big mistake on his part. I began to run. He must have heard my footsteps because next thing I knew he turned and smiled at me.

Smile?

What kind of an idiot smiled before they're about to be killed?

"Hey, Sam," he greeted loudly.

Greet?

What kind of an idiot greeted his killer?

"Sam?"

Someone who doesn't know he's about to be murdered, that's who. I pounced.

"SAM! ACK!"

I had him in a headlock and he was struggling to breath. I whispered into his ear.

"You're dead."

"Sam-wait-can-explain."

"You have two seconds."

Freddie's arm reached out, his fingers trying to close around the door knob to Carly's apartment.

"Open-door."

"Is it a trap?"

He attempted to shake his head.

"No. Swear."

I dragged him to the door and held him in front of me like a shield. I cautiously eased open the door. It was dark inside. I groped the wall in search of the light switch and when I found it, I flipped it.

"SURPRISE!"

I dropped Freddie to the ground with a thud.

Everyone, and I mean everyone, was stuffed into Carly's apartment. There was Gibby, Tasha, Wendy, Wesley, Griffen, a bunch of other kids from school, my mom, Melanie, T-Bo, Principal Franklin, Socko, Taylor, and their family, and countless other people that I didn't even know.

Carly came out of the crowd, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"So? How do you like it?"

"What's this? Some sort of intervention? 'Cuz I'm not giving up ham. Or fat cakes for that matter."

"No, silly," she rubbed my head affectionately, "it's your birthday!"

I gaped at her and she laughed. Somewhere in the days of school and iCarly and life in general my birthday had slipped my mind. I had actually forgotten my own birthday! Someone turned on some music and people started dancing and stuff. Streamers were thrown all around the room, funky hats were passed out, and a banner was quickly raised.

It said, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SAM! YOU ROCK!"

"Did you this?" I asked her.

Carly nodded. "Yeah, Freddie and I planned it."

"Freddie!"

"Yep. He helped out a lot."

"No, I mean," I explained guiltily, "I kinda had him in a headlock and was about to kill him."

I turned around to see Freddie still on the ground gasping for air amidst all the partiers. I gestured for Carly to help me pick him up. I grabbed his arms while she grabbed his legs and we hoisted him onto the couch where he croaked out a, "Thanks."

Carly scolded me. "Sam! Why'd you try to kill him?"

I shrugged, again feeling guilty. "He took all the ham from every store in the neighborhood."

"Oh," she said, then suddenly, "OH!"

She looked at him. "Did you actually do it?"

He smirked smugly.

Carly looked excited. She jumped up from the couch, pulling me up along with her.

"C'mon, help me get Freddie up. We've got something to see."

We each took an arm, supporting his weight as he attempted to find balance. I guess I was really serious. I was glad he managed to point at the Carly's door; otherwise he might have been seriously killed. With an arm draped around Carly and me, he led us out of the apartment and across the hall to his door.

"Reach into my pocket and get my key," he rasped.

"Ew, no!"

He rolled his eyes. "Just do it."

"Fine."

I gingerly stuck my hand in his pocket trying to touch as little as possible. When I finally found the key, I quickly took it out and opened the door. We walked in and Carly turned on the light.

At first, I couldn't believe my eyes.

"I-Is this...for real?"

"Happy birthday, Sam. You rock."

It was all the ham. All of it. Freddie bought it all for me. That bitch. That crazy, nerdy, thoughtful, bitch.

I spun around and hugged him tight.

"I'm sorry for trying to kill you earlier. I thought you were just doing it to prank me."

"I think I learned my lesson from the first time."

"Well, I'm sorry," I kissed him on the cheek before I knew what I was doing, "And thanks."

I'm Sam Puckett and things are lookin' great right about now.

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**Aw, how nice. A bit random, but I have to stick with the pattern.**

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